Jack drinks Jack
by TrumpetBeast
Summary: The Michigan Mauler wouldn't be caught dead in a gay bar, or would he? He'd do anything for Jack. Pre-slash and AU, takes place before the movie.   I DO NOT OWN "FOUR BROTHERS"!


Jackie was fun when he was drunk. Sober, he was like a brick wall- sensitive and separate, lost in that noisemaker of his. Sometimes I just wanted to shake him by the shoulders and yell at him to stop speaking the gibberish. Oddly, though, it was just as my brother was on the verge of incoherent to the range of most ears that I understood him best. The fairy slang fell away, revealing a crude version of the polished guy seen before. It was always a surprise to me that Jack wasn't a morose souse- he had that shady, quiet characters that takes liquor to the heart. Not him. The whiskey goes to right to his head, and that's when the ride starts.

I was settled down nice an' cozy at the little booth in the bar at the back corner. Jack prefers a rickety stool at the busy part of the counter usually, the closer the better, but when he gets tipsy someone has to drag over to a table before he gives out. It was my pleasure tonight, and he was just getting appreciable.

"Bobby," he slurred, looking up at me from a fresh bottle. I took a sip and glanced over at him, raising my eyebrows.

"Yes Jack?"

"Am I-I in troubul…." His voice tapered off drunkenly. I grinned, taking another gulp to hide it. We'd ended up here after Jack got his panties in a bunch and jumped out of my car, while it was moving. He did it at a stop sign, probably hoping I would stop like some people do. Didn't he know me by now? My pride hurt a little. So did my head. He was like an acrobat. Rolling out of the car, on his feet in a second and sprinting without a look back.

I was stunned. In fact, for close to the first time since driver's ed I actually stopped at a stop sign. And I got honked at, because apparently the person behind me didn't care about my brother. I gave him the finger and screeched out in the direction of the Fairy. He was a fast runner; I'll give him that-heck he ran like a horse. He'd also been smoking for a long time though, and I have four wheels in the middle of a sea of pavement. Speeding around the corner, I glimpsed of flash of the lean figure silhouetted against the pale setting sun on the horizon. Then he disappeared seemingly into nowhere, reaching a brick wall (just like him) and vanishing. What the heck? I pulled up to the curb. A gay bar. Who knew Detroit had one? I idled for a few minutes, debating and wishing he'd just come out there and get in the car. All I'd said was that maybe he should think about getting a job, instead of jacking off (ha) and leeching off Evelyn. "She isn't rich you know," I told him. Kind of harsh in retrospect, after all, he was more fragile then the others. But someone had to tell him, and anyone else would have just embarrassed him.

The freakin' fairy didn't come out. I sighed and put a hand to my head. Bobby, the Michigan Mauler, tough guy, going into a gay bar? Not in your dreams, man. It would be my end. And who knew what, or _who _was in there? Glancing around the street, I checked if it was empty as I opened the door and stepped out of the car. If it had been anyone else, then there would be no chance. But I would do anything for Jack. Here I come, I thought, grimacing and rubbing my arm before lifting my head and striding in like I owned the place. Not that I ever would own such an establishment, but-

It was warm. Really warm. The walls were a soft orange with white columns and a gleaming oak bar. The smell of potpourri and rum mingled sweetly with smoke from a fire burning in the corner. There were a few guys in there, intellectuals, playing checkers or just chilling out. They seemed relaxed. A radio played softly in the corner, the tender notes of Stairway to Happen by Led Zeppelin. There were chairs pulled up to the fire.

I paused for a second, a little surprised. This was no hole-in-the-wall booze fling. It had class. What it didn't have, at least at first appearance, was Jack. Moving towards the back wall and the bar, I swung my keys and fixed a grim face on the bartender, who was wiping down the counter.

"You seen the kid, hmm? Light hair, blue eyes, tall, you know who I'm talking about." He didn't look up, biting his lip as if irritated. I slapped my fist down for effect.

"I'm talking to you, lady." He stopped, bracing off a well muscled arm to look up. The quite chatter paused abruptly as the patrons looked on.

"Where's is he? I'm not leaving." I grabbed his sleeve cup, pulling him up and across the counter. Then suddenly there were strong hands on my shoulder, and a hand working my fingers off.

"Lay off man," rumbled a deep voice. "Keep your deal to your self. No one made you come in here." I gritted my teeth. Yes they did. It was rather honorable that they didn't just give him up though. But maybe he wasn't here? I looked for a back door, and found only some wooden stairs leading to a second floor. The hands released their firm grip, resting on my shoulders before dropping.

"You cool, man?"

"I am definitely NOT. Get my brother here now or I will go get him." I hollered, starting for the stairs. That got their attention.

"Don't be hasty, now there, mister. I'll see what I can do." Said the bartender, slipping past me to yell up the stairs.

"C'mon Jack, Bobby's giving me hell down here." He knew my name! I eyed them suspiciously, keeping one eye upstairs. Last time I checked, I didn't have a name tag. They knew him all right.

There were soft quick steps and Jack came down the stairs.

"Sorry about that Jeb," he said. "Are you okay?" What was that? Jack was talking louder than usual, and he seemed as comfortable as he did at home, which was rare in public places.

"Sure man, all cool. Take care Jack," said Jeb, clapping him on the shoulder. Jack didn't even flinch at the contact. Now this was plain bizarre. Usually that would have driven him crazy. He passed down the last steps, grabbing my arm and pulling me.

"Sorry guys," he apologized to the guys standing around, who just smiled at him and sat back down.

I straightened up. This place was kind of cool in retrospect, if it made Jack like this. He had seemed happier lately-maybe he went here often. There was a little inbred revulsion at that thought, but then I realized that none of these men would take advantage of him.

"Wait, Jack," I ordered, stopping so that he kind of pulled back from yanking me. "Why don't we get a drink, since we're here?" He stopped, and raised one eyebrow, a smile playing on his lips. Then he turned and tugged on my arm again.

"I'm not sure you're welcome here," he replied, chuckling. "I'm sure we can find you another one."

I looked over at him, his head drooping from so much drink. It wasn't a gay bar, if you wondered. The Michigan Mauler wouldn't be caught dead in one of those. But it made me consider that maybe I should be more open-minded. That place tonight hadn't been half bad. Besides, it made me consider. Maybe Jack was gay. I'd wondered at times. If he was, my teasing might hit home more than I intended. I shook my head and laid down some bills for the tab.

"Come on Cowboy," I said, reaching to help him up.

"Sure thing, Bobby…" he said, but then his forehead and he frowned. "One more for the road?" I sighed. Of course he would say that.

"No, I think you'd had enough. You have to be presentable for interviews, after all," I teased, laughing as he wrinkled up his nose.

I pulled him through the bar and out into the brisk air and started to haul him to the car. Just then, he made a desperate turning motion, grabbing at me with his hands.

"Whoa, Jack. Okay there?" I asked, stopping. He got a hold on my coat and leaned forward, catching me straight on the lips. It took a second to get used to, but then I kissed back.

Jackie was fun when he was drunk.


End file.
